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JOAN OF ARC.
Dark-shadow'd by the helmet's iron cheeks.The assembled court gaz'd on the marshall'd train,And at the gate the aged Primate stoodTo pour his blessing on the chosen host. 15And now a soft and solemn symphonyWas heard; and chaunting high the hallow'd hymnFrom the near convent came the vestal maids.A holy banner, woven by virgin hands, 20Snow-white they bore. A mingled sentimentOf awe, and eager ardor for the fight,Thrill'd thro' the troops, as he the reverend manTook the white standard, and with heav'n-ward eyeCall'd on the God of Justice, blessing it. 25The Maid, her brows in reverence unhelm'd,Her dark hair floating on the morning gale,Knelt to his prayer, and stretching forth her handReceiv'd the mystic ensign. From the hostA loud and universal shout burst forth, 30As rising from the ground, on her white brow,She placed the plumed casque, and waved on high

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